Happy
by beehoon
Summary: A series of one shots of what happens off screen for Cullen and Inquisitor Trevelyan. Chapter 9: Loss. He had not realised what he was afraid to lose.
1. Whiteout

Whiteout

Edit: apologies for the lack of breaks and stuffed up formatting :(

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><p>When the geas finally unravelled, they were all gasping for breath. Dorian leaned against a tree, sucking in great gulps of air until his head swam but he fought back the nausea. He'd sooner kiss Cassandra than throw up in front of her.<p>

Sera managed to ask as her breathing eased, "Was that Coryfisheus?". He shook his head, still too breathless to speak.

It had been such a beautifully crafted geas too: the descent into blind panic delicately balanced by the suggestion that they follow the trail left by the fleeing townsfolk. He never knew that he could run that fast.

"I am going to strangle that...mage brat!" The white lines around Cassandra's mouth that marked the transition from general annoyance to outright rage were being displayed in their full glory.

Dorian managed to straighten up without fainting. "Of course, that's assuming she survives that. It sounded like a sizeable avalanche."

Cassandra stilled at that. Dorian took advantage of the pause to check that his moustache's curls hadn't wilted from the sweat beading on his lip. He was more worried than he cared to admit, but the destruction of magical devices like the Anchor tended to cause massive explosions, and thus her survival thus far seemed probable.

Cassandra sighed. "We should move on. We will not be able to return to Haven through that passage. Let's find Cullen and the others."

Dorian struck a small light on his staff as he hurried to catch up with Cassandra. The sky was dark with heavy clouds; there would be snow in the air tonight.

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><p>He had a feeling that she would have called it a storm in a teacup without a trace of irony. And it was in many ways, assuming Thedas was the teacup in question.<p>

The thought lingered vaguely at the back of his mind as he directed them to set up camp under scant cover of the ridge. More than a few had died along the way, and he wondered if she would find those grim signs of their passage.

Of course, that was assuming she was alive.

Something twisted in his gut, and he thought of the quizzical look on her face just hours before, as she looked out over the festivities. "The Breach is closed," she had said, "but I feel like I'm waiting for the punchline."

His hand went to the vial of lyrium in his pocket. "Maker's breath," he muttered.

It was sometimes hard to tell one pain from another. And perhaps this would just be a different form of withdrawal.

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><p>It was really fucking cold.<p>

Lady Trevelyan, recently of the Ostwick Circle of Magi, still more recently Herald of Andraste, symbol of the Inquisition, bit back another expletive. The Trevelyans were an old family and had the stiff upper lips that decorum demanded. Evelyn, however, moved to the Circle at age six, and was no stranger to near death experiences. She had learned the vocabulary suited to such situations, and hard sharp syllables that meant something rude were merely an efficient method of communication where required; for instance, if an apprentice was about to level the tower with an explosion.

The world was wind and swirling snow. She clutched at her staff and planted it deep with every step, all the while regretting that it was not an igneous staff to warm her fingers. Fingerless gloves to let her trace magic deftly now seemed like a terrible idea, and it had been hours since she could feel her fingers. They had burned with the cold before going numb, and she was not sure she could let go of the staff.

She sighed, and her breath froze into the already icy scarf around her face. The Conclave should have been mainly about yawning subtly and having a nice warm drink while trying to stay awake. She had been persuaded to attend to represent Ostwick with the expectation that they would have no say in what was to come.

Regretting her lack of survival skills in a blizzard was not part of the plan.

White snow and dark sky. She could feel the Fade strongly here, where there was only cold and the rush of wind. Intangible shapes, sounds just past the edge of hearing-

Symbols and concepts were what mattered in the Fade. So they had just seen the Herald die and their homes destroyed. What would their nightmares hold tonight?

She smiled then, bright and grim. Time and place were worthless in the Fade, but she would figure it out. She had to.

She had to survive because of the thrice-damned Anchor in her hand. Nevertheless, if she lost her hand to frostbite, all of this was probably pointless and she should have just curled up in the snow to die. She was given to understand that hypothermia was not a horrible way to go.

It would be a nice Winter's End present for that blighted monster.

She sighed again and trudged on, mildly annoyed yet entertained by the thought, with the Frostback Mountains as the only ones listening to the occasional muttered "Shite!".

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><p>He wasn't even sure at what point they had started shouting. Eventually he lost interest and sank back into his seat.<p>

If he hadn't objected so violently when Leliana had suggested that they obtain her phylactery-

_Do you want her to feel coerced into staying with us? She might take it as a threat. It is not our right to have that power over her._

He would have been able to find her, even in the whiteout. He would have had take lyrium to use the phylactery, but to save her-

It didn't matter. They didn't have it.

It occurred to him that the wind had stopped drowning out the sound of their voices.

"I'm going to look for her." Before the others could object, he slipped out of the tent. They could continue the argument later. Such things kept well in this climate.

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><p>"There she is! Thank the Maker!"<p>

There was so much snow clinging to her that she was barely visible in the darkness, and he ran to her as best he could, sinking into the fresh powder.

Snow crusted her eyelashes, and he peeled away the scarf wrapped around her face, frozen with the dampness from her short rapid breaths. "Cullen," she said as he put his arm around her and helped her to her feet. It was a greeting, a statement of fact, a call answered.

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><p>She waited quietly until he dismissed the messengers. He cleared his throat awkwardly as she came closer.<p>

What did one say in such circumstances? I'm sorry I left you to die in Haven? (even though I was following orders.) I'm glad you're alive ? (There was never a more beautiful sight than you in the snow)

He had tried to get it out the last time they had spoken, and she had tripped over her words too, the usual irreverence falling away as she said "_I'm glad you made it out."_ All he had managed then was a promise that it would never happen again.

She asks for an update and he replies distractedly. She raises an eyebrow until the question trips out, "How did you find us? The blizzard covered our tracks. No one would have found us in that whiteout."

Her lips twitch, an almost smile that she smothers quickly. "What do you think?"

"The Maker must have led you to us."

"I suppose that's approximately true." She grinned. "And if I said it was by magic?"

"Then thank the Maker that you are a mage."

The devilish glint was back in her dark eyes. "That's not something I hear much."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Commander, the armoury report as you said, sir. Now, sir. Yes, sir, that's what you said, sir. Sir."

"I'll speak to you later, Cullen."

"I'll be here, should you require me," he says, and he means it.


	2. Hide and Seek

It should have been impossible to miss her in such a small tavern, but nonetheless he almost did. Most of Haven ate their dinners at those rough tables, himself included, but he had never seen her there before. Everyone else seemed oblivious to the Herald of Andraste sitting on a barrel in the corner, bowl in one hand and spoon in the other, cheeks full of food.

She caught his eye and swallowed quickly, then waved her spoon. He wove through the crowd to greet her, and felt electricity crackle and pop over his skin when he stepped into her little quiet space. He was impressed; he had never seen magic used like that.

"Hello. You should mind the armour; don't leave until I've discharged the spell. The mutton stew is delicious."

"I see. I will do as you suggest; your worship. How are you going unnoticed?"

She shrugged and kept eating. "Magic."

"Then how is it that I can see you and the other templars can't?"

"It's easier to hide from them because they aren't looking for me."

"And I am?" He flushed with the suggestion. He was suddenly all too aware of how close she was. Her damp hair was loose around her face, sweet with the scent of soap.

She regarded him curiously. "That's the question, isn't it?"

Cullen blushed even more deeply and held his tongue. She put the bowl down on the barrel between them and they sat in awkward silence. He wondered if he should ask her to discharge the spell so that he could leave.

She stood up and nearly hit her head on the low shelf. "Andraste's arse! Sorry. I should be going. Um. I wanted to explain why I was asking about your vows. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." She met his gaze for a moment and looked away quickly. "In the Ostwick Circle, we are made to take such vows. And they take-steps to ensure that we do not reproduce."

Before he could say anything, she was gone, the discharging magic leaving a sharp tang to replace the smell of her hair.


	3. Duelling

It helped to be tired, which was one reason why he worked until he couldn't see straight, then woke up and did it all again. Between the constant parade of messengers and reports, he found the time to drill his soldiers and occasionally, "beat the shit out of them", as she called it. One never improved without fighting with someone faster, stronger, more skilled, but she disapproved anyway.

Doing this meant that some nights he didn't dream at all. Tonight though, he wasn't even winded. He had disarmed the hapless recruit in seconds, and he made a mental note to speak to the man's sergeant.

"You're getting sloppy, commander." Cullen turned to see the Iron Bull grinning at him. "You haven't fought with someone who can match you in weeks."

Cullen could see where this was going. Why not? He was not feeling the effects of the lyrium withdrawal today. "Get in the ring, Bull." He settled into an easy guard as the Bull hefted his greataxe, grinning like a madman. He never could understand how the Bull handled it so precisely with only a single eye.

The Bull's first swing was easily deflected, and the huge qunari pulled back, still grinning. He was testing his strength, looking for an opening.

"I think we have an audience."

"Shall we show the men how it is done?"

The Bull chuckled. "I think the Inquisitor is interested in how you do it, yes."

He felt the blush creeping up his neck towards his ears, but did not dare take his eyes off the qunari. The Bull took pity on him and relaxed his grip on his weapon. "Go on, I'll wait."

She was muffled in a scarf, stamping her feet in the cold. She waved when he looked her way, a shy little flick of her hand before it was shoved back into a warm pocket. Dorian was with her, and he leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Cullen knew that Dorian was not and would never be interested in her in that way, but he still felt a sharp stab of jealousy.

He turned back to the Bull in time to side step the axe coming down. He heard her gasp, but kept moving, shield slamming into the Bull's side. He danced away as the Bull doubled over. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted silver blue light dancing over her fingers: a barrier ready to go.

The Bull was grinning again. "You two have been making eyes at each other since I got to Haven, and that was months ago. When are you going to do something about it? The boss wants you to, you know."

He caught another blow awkwardly, the impact jarring his shield arm and leaving it numb. "It's not that simple," he growled through gritted teeth, backing out of range of the axe. Between the Bull's height and the axe's length, that was a very long way indeed.

"The way I see it, it is." The Bull closed quickly and Cullen ducked under his reach, sword coming up to rest under the Bull's chin. The Bull laughed, "Well played."

"Too much talking, big man."

"Or maybe I let that happen for your benefit." He winked his eye. "I guess you'll never know." Raising his voice, "You got me good there, commander. I'll get you next time."

"We'll practice defending against mauls and greataxes at dawn. At ease, soldiers. Get some rest."

The Bull chuckled again; Cullen was thoroughly sick of being mocked by now. "Talk to the boss. It doesn't have to be about the Inquisition, or mages and templars." He clapped his large hand on Cullen's shoulder before leaving.

Dorian spoke to her in a low voice, winked at Cullen suggestively and took his leave. She unwound the scarf from around her face, nose red with the cold and snowflakes settling in her hair. "You did well." She smiled at him, and had the Bull still been there, he would have noted how Cullen's expression softened. "I was scared for you. The Bull can be a sneaky bastard sometimes."

"I must admit, I sleep a little better knowing that he's guarding you."

Her face wrinkled as she considered this. "He has almost decapitated me a few times, so I have mixed feelings about that. That's why I don't get in sword fights."

"That's prudent, but it never hurts to know how to handle oneself in close quarters." I would prefer you stayed out of harm's way but that doesn't seem to be an option, he added silently.

She scoffed at that. "I don't think I've ever mentioned this, but my father hired a weapons master to train me to use a staff when I was twelve. It worked out about as well as you might imagine."

"I could train you. With a blade on the end, your staff could be a formidable weapon."

"Have you looked at my arms lately?" He took both her arms then, and found that he could encircle her upper arms with his fingers. She did have a point. Slightly surprised by his daring, he slid his hands down her arms and took her hands in his. Small, slender mage hands, cold to the touch even through his gloves. He pressed her hands between his, trying to warm them.

"I still could try, if you were willing. Magic is finite, and it's always good to have another trick up your sleeve."

She smiled lopsidedly. "Very well then. When would you like to begin?"

"Tomorrow night?"

"As you wish, commander. We should both get some rest."

He let go of her hands reluctantly and watched her go. She looked back as she closed the door into the keep, a brief smile and she was gone.

He cut a forlorn figure, alone in the snow before he abruptly pulled on his coat and headed to the armoury. They would need practice staffs and spears; it wouldn't do to damage her staff and its crystal. There was a book on spear forms in his library; it had been years since he had used anything but a sword and shield.

Tomorrow night. That was a promise. He had work to do, and then if the Maker was willing, he would sleep well. If only he could stop wishing that he had kissed her.


	4. Execution

"The magister will arrive at Skyhold today, Inquisitor."

She was being scrutinised, much to her displeasure. Her report of the events at Adamant had reached Leliana borne on raven wings several days before their arrival. Cullen had stayed behind to organise the surviving soldiers, before taking several templars to escort the magister back to Skyhold. The magister was being kept unconscious with a combination of sleeping draughts, but was also restrained with heavily warded manacles. She had inspected the wards before she and her companions had set out, irrationally terrified about leaving Cullen with the monster who had destroyed the Wardens. She knew that he was well equipped for the task, nonetheless she had pulled him into his tent to kiss him angrily and order him to come home safe. As usual, a runner had walked in on them and that was that.

Leliana looked strangely predatory in the early morning light, shadowing the hollows of her gaunt cheeks and hooded eyes. She was still testing the Inquisitor, judging Evelyn against her love for the Divine and her shattered faith.

"The magister will face judgment in the coming week. The troops will not be far behind, we should first see that they receive a welcome befitting the victory at Adamant. We also need to see to the remaining Wardens. I want to speak to Stroud when he arrives, and they need quarters away from the mages and the rest of the army for now. I want them to mingle more when tempers settle, but not while the wounds are still fresh."

"I will see to it, Inquisitor."

She smiled gratefully at Josephine. Many of those duties would have fallen to Cullen, but she was grateful that he wouldn't arrive only to be deluged by work. She would have to thank Cassandra too; doubtless she would be quietly-well, firmly-lending a helping hand.

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><p>He was easy to spot in the crowd, standing out in red (harder for the men to tell when you're hurt and bleeding, Inquisitor. She had hoped that he had been joking). His soldiers and runners scurried as he barked commands.<p>

She lingered on the battlements watching him, drawing uninteresting threads of the Fade around her like a cloak. He saw through it as usual, looking straight at her and stopping dead in his tracks, sternness melting from his brow. His face brightened into an almost smile until a Warden began talking to him, gesticulating urgently. He waved him off and called his templars over. The templars dragged a limp figure out of the barred carriage, carrying it towards the dungeon.

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><p>The festivities were well under way when he finally made his way back into his office, closing the door on the drunken singing outside. He gripped his pommel instinctively, sensing he wasn't alone. A small bright spark drifted from her fingers, flaming briefly to light the candle before fizzling out. She was curled up in his chair, the absurd Inquisition sword lying on his cluttered desk. The gaudy dragon curled around its hilt threw strange reflections on her face.<p>

He unbuckled his sword and laid it next to hers before taking her into his arms. "I thought I'd lost you again. Maker, when that dragon showed up and that wing of Adamant collapsed..."

They clung to each other fiercely. There had been no time at Adamant to be lovers; only time enough for the Inquisitor to brief her commander of the events before leaving, Wardens not far behind.

There was time now. She had been there when the bulk of the soldiers marched in and had been the first to crack open the kegs, conspiratorially whispering to him about creating a distraction. It seemed to be working well.

He kissed her with increasing hunger but she gently pushed him away. "I'm sorry. I need you to help me with something."

For a heated moment, he had a mind to suggest that he knew what help she needed best, but immediately regretted the thought. She was watching him gravely."You know that you need only ask."

"I wanted to make Erimond Tranquil. I would but for this damned rumour of a cure." She laughed bitterly. "Monster that I am, I want him to suffer a fate worse than death. But I can't. So he must die." She pulled herself up to look him in the eye. "You have to teach me how to use that sword to kill him."

He understood. She did not trust that she would make the killing blow a clean one. "I could do it-or one of our soldiers."

"No." She exhaled, an angry little sound that was equal parts scorn and self-loathing. "The judgment must come from the Inquisitor, and so must the punishment."

That explained the sword, which had been hanging on the wall in her quarters until now. He recalled being a little surprised that it wasn't rusting, but no doubt someone had been tasked with polishing it. He drew it out of its scabbard, which was surprisingly sensible plain leather. Heavy, and strangely balanced with the dragon hilt. He ran his thumb along the edge cautiously; it could use some work with a whetstone.

"Hanging him or using magic is not an option?"

"No. I don't want this to be about magic. It's simply that being an arsehole who wants to turn the world into a wasteland will not be tolerated. Hanging might work, but it's not ideal." She bit her lip thoughtfully. "The fact that we are having this conversation is also very strange."

"We live in interesting times." He sheathed the sword before reaching over to kiss her again. Safety first. He would never have admitted to the little twinge of regret that they were not spending the night differently, but here they were, about to practice decapitating a man in his office.

He turned the wooden dummy on its side after digging out his throwing knives. She drew the sword at his word, and he came to stand behind her, gently correcting her grip. Hands over hers, he moved her through the downward stroke. She was stronger than she was before he had began teaching her fighting with staff and spear (he loved her but she was hopeless at it), but her arms still trembled with the exertion by the fourth stroke.

It needed to be swift, decisive. He groaned inwardly at the thought of watching her hack the magister's head off in stages, although the bastard deserved it. If she was planning to put it off until she could do it personally, the magister would be waiting for a while.

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><p>"See, this is why I keep you around." She was lying on his chest and her hair tickled his bare skin whenever she moved. "A strong pair of arms to carry heavy things and chop off heads."<p>

She felt the chuckle rather than heard it. "I am, after all, yours to command."

"So I command the commander? Isn't that interesting?"

He pulled himself out from under her, pushing her onto her back. "Very interesting," he agreed. "But a good officer also knows how to take the initiative."

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><p>There was a lot of blood. She hated the sound of metal shearing through flesh and bone. She hated making him do her dirty work for her, although he had done it in one clean stroke, face impassive. He left his sword bare; she knew he would clean it fastidiously, broodingly. He was a warrior, but he had never struck down a helpless foe.<p>

It was a complete farce. Slaughtering the monster in public, to lay the people's fears to rest. Or to quench their thirst for blood? She felt sick watching the blood pool on the flagstones. Would they be able to get rid of the stain?

She tried to breathe as the crowd roared. Erimond needed to die, but it could have been different. She should have killed him, quick and quiet, and then they could have displayed his body. But she knew that they (especially the Wardens) needed to watch him die, and to feel that he had received his just deserts.

Cullen, her right hand, who had never killed a man in cold blood. She offered prayers to a Maker whose existence she doubted: please don't let them see him as an executioner. Please don't let this hurt him.

She left the battlements without addressing the crowd further. There was nothing to be said.

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><p>She found him in the armoury, an assortment of oils in front of him as he cleaned his sword. He had declined using the ornamental one that they had given her.<p>

He was alone and she was glad his soldiers had the good sense to give him space. She put her arms around him, burying her face in the back of his neck, smelling his clean, masculine scent. He was still for a moment before sheathing his sword and turning to her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled into his chest. "I shouldn't have made you do it."

"It was my suggestion. I was not forced into it."

"He died by my word, and should have also died by my hand!" She said hotly, almost in tears.

"It is done, and it is what had to be done." He brushed her face with the back of his hand-his hands were greasy.

Looking at him, she understood what Cole had said about the templars feeling older than they were. He was solemn, timeless in his sadness. She pressed her forehead to his.

She knew she was being selfish, but she should have let someone, anyone else take the blow. Blackwall could have struck it for the Wardens (false as he was). The Bull might have laughed as he parted the magister's head from his body. But she knew in her heart of hearts that it was precisely because Cullen did not take it lightly that she had let him do it, and that she loved him for it.

"I'm fine." He wasn't, not truly, but he was better than he would have been if the tables had been turned. Better him than her. "Do not regret his death. So many died because of his actions, and he suffered far less than they did."

She sighed as she pulled away. "I need to go. Vivienne's dressmaker is waiting." She trailed a finger along his cheek. "At least you'll be coming with us to Halamshiral. I'm told that the dressmaker was in raptures when you put on the dress uniform."

He smiled a little at that. "I wish you had been there to defend my honour."

"I'll tell him to keep his hands off." She paused at the door. "Thank you. For...everything."

Then she was gone and he was left to his thoughts.

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><p>He had asked Blackwall and the Bull to spar with him that night, one after another. Having collected some new bruises and a concussion, he spent a long time in the baths, head spinning every time he tried to stand up.<p>

He was caught off guard by her in his bed, a book in one hand and staff in the other. She clutched the book to her chest defensively.

"You're late," she said accusingly. He was too tired to argue, too confused to wonder what she was doing.

She made him lie down, clever fingers finding the goose egg on his head where Blackwall's mace had clipped him. She pressed her hand firmly against it and the swelling subsided, his headache and nausea receding like the outgoing tide.

He was starting to drift off to sleep when she took her hand away. She thumbed the book open to the page she had been reading. It was crumpled from being crushed against her chest; Dorian would not be pleased.

He had assured her that it would work. Dreamless sleep! She couldn't imagine such a thing or being away from the Fade, not even after being trapped by the Nightmare in Adamant. But Cullen had been trapped in nightmares for years.

Her fingers tapped impatiently as she tried to memorise how to trace the glyph. The motif of sleep bound within stone. Ah.

Standing on the bed, she picked her staff up and the crystal flared to life. Her index finger left a small silver trail as she traced the glyph in the air above him. It blazed gold when complete, then vanished.

His breathing was still relaxed. She slid her staff to the floor and put the book under his bed. Pulling the covers over them both, she flicked her fingers at the candle and it obediently went out. There was more than one way to soothe a nightmare, and she would be there when he woke.


	5. Happy: Part 1

Part 1 of fluff, and new flagship chapter.

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><p>"You sound happy." He folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope before tucking it into a drawer.<p>

When was the last time his happiness had been important to anyone? He'd been happy the day he had left for the templars, but afterwards it got lost amidst words like 'honour' and 'duty'. Rejoice in serving the Maker.

Then the Blight had happened, and he had simply survived, kept going with the same bull-headed, foolish tenacity that had prevailed against the voices crawling around his skull. The terror never truly left, and it was there waiting when Meredith lost her mind.

That was before. And now...

He had been astonished to find himself smiling at the sight of her trudging up the path to Haven, complaining about the cold with wind-chapped lips. He caught himself looking for her in her favourite quiet corners, even when she was away (by all reports, thrashing through the Hinterlands and getting attacked by bears).

He had thought it was too good to be true, and the familiar taste of despair had returned when he asked her how she would escape and she turned away (damn you, Varric, and your talk of heroic deaths). But duty is what he knew, and he did his duty well. It still didn't stop him from hoping, praying as he let the signal arrow fly.

It was a succession of bright moments after that. Finding her in the snow (he would never leave her like that again). The way she smiled every time their eyes met (sometimes warm, sometimes devious). Chess on Fridays (she was terrible at it but he always let her win). The first time they kissed (her nose was cold). The coin in her hand, being with her where he had always been the happiest (Mia always knew how to read between the lines).

She had asked him then, eyes soft with...love? "Are you happy?".

He thinks he said yes; he can't be sure. He was drunk on happiness, reeling with every look and touch and kiss. He does know that he did kiss her, knows she pulled his head down to meet her lips when she tired of standing on tiptoes.

There is a knock on the door. He holds it open as she shuffles in with a cup of tea in each hand and a book tucked under one arm. After putting everything down, she gives him a quick peck on the cheek. "How's the paperwork going?"

"I have a short letter to write, and then I'm all yours."

She is already curling up in the plush armchair in the corner that she saw fit to add to his office. "Take your time, I'm trying to puzzle something out." Within seconds she is completely focused on her book, tongue stuck out in her little frown of concentration.

He watches her for a moment before he unstops his ink bottle, dips his quill in and begins. "Mia-"


	6. Happy: Part 2

A/N: I know that this is a generous helping of cheese, but I like to think they have that effect on each other. This is the companion piece to the previous chapter. Thanks for all the follows and favourites! :D

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><p>The first time in her life that she remembered being unhappy was in the Circle. She was lying in the upper bunk that would be her bed in the years to come, surrounded by strangers, away from home for the first time in her life. Her father had promised he would come and takeI her home at the end of the week, but the older girl who was in the lower bunk had told her that her family had said that too, but they lied. Nobody loves mages, she said.<p>

Evelyn was not alone, but she had never felt more lonely. She had cried quietly, burying her face in the lumpy pillow.

Then Friday had arrived, and her father was there to take her home. There had been a long conversation between her papa, her uncle Martin in all his templar armour, auntie Lucille (well, papa's auntie, she kept forgetting to call her Revered Mother) and the First Enchanter, who had pumpkin soup in his beard.

Her father had taken her by the hand after all of that and she had come home to her mama's arms and a dinner of her favourite food.

She hadn't been as unhappy after that, but the Circle had made her suffer in many little ways for it. In every class, someone would knock over her flasks or spill ink on her notes. She invariably sat alone at meals until she figured out that the Tranquil didn't hate her because they didn't hate anyone, so she sat with them instead. She grew adept at probing her bed for creepy crawlies and for the odd hex. One itch curse had been enough to inculcate lifelong caution.

She hadn't really been unhappy at Circle despite all of that, but she hadn't been happy either.

Outside the Circle, her parents insisted that she fulfil her social obligations as Bann Trevelyan's daughter. She learned to keep her mouth smiling even as her eyes screamed murder when yet another thoughtless noblewoman tittered about her being a mage, that they should be careful that she didn't turn them all to frogs. She kept to herself the thought that it would be a marked improvement. Her parents, too, kept smiling. She knew that they wanted to show the Ostwick nobility that she was no more than another girl, that some battles were better won with stiff upper lips, but that was cold comfort.

At home, they interrogated her about the week's events. Within weeks, she had decided that telling them about most things only served to make them unhappy and that there was really nothing they could do to change things. So she began deflecting most questions with amusing stories or boring technical explanations about various spells (thermodynamics tended to be a safe bet when trying to dissuade them from further inquiry).

Nowadays they simply wrote numerous letters, usually starting with with whether she was hurt (unsurprisingly, they had been very anxious since the Conclave blew up, and even more so since she dropped the side of a mountain on her own head). Her current fallback these days were anecdotes involving bears. "Bears in the wild smell bad, much worse than the ones in the zoo that papa used to bring us to. They're also very grumpy! I wonder why most children have stuffed bears as toys."

She generally left out the parts that included demons, blood magic, red templars and an immortal darkspawn magister. Oh, and the part where she almost got mauled by a bear before the Bull had put his axe through its skull.

Her last missive had included extensive details about spiders (she somehow forgot to mention that they were Fade-spiders representing the fears of every sentient in Thedas and that she was in the Fade because she had fallen off a bridge destroyed by an archdemon). Had her parents been more credulous, they would have thought she spent a lot of time slaughtering wildlife. Unfortunately, they were doubtless aware of the censorship.

She folded the latest letter with a sigh; as usual, her father had asked, "Are you happy?". He had taken to asking her direct questions as she grew older and more evasive.

The answer was not what it had been.

She set out for his office after pulling on two more coats. He still neglected to mention the hole in the roof to the builders despite her repeated hints, then threats about it. She had a feeling he thought the cold discouraged bothersome people from lingering.

Snowflakes were gently drifting through the hole in the roof, getting stuck on the fur ruff of his coat. He was frowning at a stack of paperwork when she opened the door carefully, trying not to make it squeak.

"Evelyn." The way he said her name still made her heart turn cartwheels. He stood to greet her as he always did, but the kisses were new and wonderful.

"I need to write a letter. To Ostwick." He sat her down in his chair, producing ink and paper from various drawers.

"How do I tell them about you? Maker's knickers! I should just put you in a box and mail you to Ostwick. Or you could just come with me to Ostwick when all of this is over." She smiled sheepishly when he laughed. "Would you?" she asked in a small voice.

"Of course." He gave her a tight hug. She looked at him, helpless in the face of tenderness as he thought to himself; so this was might come after; Ostwick, and a chance to ask her father for her hand.

She was too was thinking about what might come after; both she and Cullen horribly seasick crossing the Waking Sea, her parents delighted to meet him (they both feared she would be alone forever), travelling with him to all the Wonders of Thedas (the real ones, not that awful shop in Denerim).

The start of a happily ever after.


	7. Red

He regretted his decision to accompany them as soon as he could hear the lyrium's soft song. There were no words but his own thoughts, but it woke the hunger, the pain. He was a fool, and he didn't pull himself together, he would be putting her in danger. It was his own damned idea. He had slept better knowing he would be there to put himself between her and Samson. Slept better with her by his side, in the same tent for the first time, tangled in their blankets, making love as quietly as they could. She had protested at first, worried that it wasn't appropriate. He didn't disagree, but having her sleeping form pressed against him and her soft skin so easily accessible made it hard. He had woken early one morning to her hands slipping under his clothes and the last of his self control evaporated. If she wasn't going to play by her rules, neither was he. After a few heated, urgent minutes, she was moaning quietly into his neck.

He jerked himself back to the present. He tried to think of any verse of the Chant of Light, but the only one that would come to him was "With passion'd breath does the darkness creep. It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep."

She was biting her lip and trying not to look worried as she watched him. "Are you all right?" she asked evenly. Her hands reached out to him instinctively, but she balled them into fists and instead took hold of her staff. The lyrium sang to him again, when did you make her scared of touching you? You smashed your lyrium set in a blind rage. Did you see her reach out to you then pull away?

Maker, he was a selfish fool. Samson had not been his match in Kirkwall, but with red lyrium armour and his own abilities diminished since he had stopped taking it, the playing field had changed. What could one washed out ex-templar do against another one using red lyrium?

"I'm fine. There is a lot of red lyrium in there. We must be careful."

"He can hear it. I can hear it too. It eats away at them and then it wants more. They want more."

"Cole, please concentrate for a moment," she said quietly. "Cassandra, please take point. We should also find out if your Seeker gift works on ingested red lyrium. Bull, stay with her and guard her flanks. Cole and Cullen, watch my back and support them where you are able. Are we clear?"

"Let's go."

They made steady progress, encountering far fewer red templars than they had feared. Bull and Cole cut down most of them within seconds when her magic smashed them to the ground. For his part, he merely deflected the odd blow aimed at her and tried to empty his mind. She moved oddly through the battlefield with worryingly little awareness of her surroundings, relying instead on her usual subtle barrier to avoid notice. More than once she walked around the corner into a red templar as she was looking for a vantage point to help Cassandra, only for him to get between them, always terrified for her. The red templar invariably engaged him, completely ignoring her even as she pummelled it with spells.

He was going to worry even more when he wasn't there. But things were going better than he had expected; the adrenaline of battle had muted of the pain and the intrusive thoughts, although the lyrium hunger still gnawed at him. He had endured worse.

They finally reached the main chamber, and everything was ablaze. Arrows whistled past them and Cassandra and Bull were rapidly flanked by both red Templars and demons. Cole disappeared, and was flitting around them judging by the screams and the flash of daggers. The Bull roared from somewhere in the smoke; he sounded like he was in trouble. Angry, but also hurt. They needed to hurry. Things were turning bad fast, and the fire would destroy everything if they didn't end things decisively. Cullen plunged in, heading towards the qunari, striking at enemies where there gaps in their guard but not engaging them.

Cole screamed then, "No!" He flashed past, sprinting back to the entrance and seconds later, Evie's cry of pain silenced everything else. Their barriers fizzled out at that same instant.

Cullen ran too, catching blows on his arm plates as he wove through the melee. Magic flared, a barrier's light, the sound of rocks falling. When he cleared the smoke, Evie was on the ground, a red templar shadow's dagger arm raised high above her as she knocked it back. Cole was furiously fighting another, rolling, dodging, parrying, stabbing.

The first shadow is running towards her again with dagger arms at the ready, he was too far away, Maker no, but she slows it, frost turning to ice over its armour. He throws himself at it shield first, his momentum and full weight behind the charge and the ice on it shatters. He slashes at it again and again before it can recover, sword scraping uselessly against the red lyrium on its skin, dancing out of reach of its daggers aiming for his hamstrings. When it tries to jump to its feet, he bashes it in the head with his shield and his sword's point finds a chink. He throws his strength behind the thrust and twists the sword before he pulls it out.

She is lying too still, and he cradles her to him, fight forgotten. She opens her eyes, touches his face with a cold hand and he forces a healing potion between her lips. He checks her pockets with clumsy, impatient hands, finding a lyrium potion and lifting it to her lips, growling, "Evie, you have to stay awake, you have to heal yourself. Evie!"

He puts pressure on the wound, half blind with tears as he kisses her. It's in the small of her back, and her leather armour is soaked. More warm blood seeps around his fingers. "Stay with me, Evie. I'm such a fool, I should never have brought you here, I was meant to guard you. I love you."

"Cullen." He thinks her pupils are dilating from the lyrium, her eyes are so dark that it's hard to tell. Blue and green sparks dance over her skin, racing to the wound under his hand. Her breathing settles into a more natural rhythm instead of the fast shallow breaths she'd been taking.

He almost weeps with relief when he takes away his hand and no more blood soaks through. He pulls her leather coat off, pulls up her shirt and finds a new pink scar. He holds her face in his hands, kissing her again and again, leaving red smears on her neck and cheeks from his bloody gloves. Her mouth is gentle against his, whispering, "I'm fine. It's all right."

Cassandra and Bull limp up from the smoky chamber below, coughing and spluttering. He kisses her one last time before pulling away, mind already racing. Yet another way that he had failed. He had left them to whatever had been done there heedlessly, caring only that she lived. Cole suddenly pops into view at Evie's side, face attentive and uncomfortably close to them.

"You all right, boss? What happened here?"

She takes hold of Cullen's shoulders and tries to pull herself to stand. He puts his hands on her waist and stands with her, supporting her as she sways a little, no doubt dizzy from the blood loss. She reaches around to the new scar, running her fingers over it gingerly and says with a grimace, "Red templar shadows. Two of them." She lifts her shirt a little more and he sees a smaller second new scar a few inches above, on her lower ribs.

Cassandra grips both of their shoulders sympathetically. "The chamber is cleared. We should search it quickly before the fire destroys everything."

She is smiling widely now, more than a little lyrium-drunk again. He has only seen her like this once before, months ago, and had thought at the time that she didn't use much lyrium. He had not been wrong on that count. "Don't worry about that. I'll get the fires down." The air around her cools, and she lifts pale hands as cold mist streams from her fingers. Beyond them, the fires shrink back into corners and sputter.

"It's all thermodynamics, you see. I'm the catalyst. Sort of. I take that heat and put it somewhere else. The Fade can hold it for a time. Then later, I'll make something explode." She giggled at their blank looks and he put a water skin in her hand. She drank obediently, but it would take hours for the lyrium to wash out.

He slung his shield around his shoulders and picked up his sword again. Cassandra's lips quirked as he steered Evie towards the main chamber, but she led them through. They passed rapidly through the now empty chamber, eventually finding Maddox in the back room. She shook her head when she saw him; too far gone. She still took Maddox's hand, let her magic flare.

"Thank you. It does not hurt anymore."

She leaned on him as they walked out, and as they were setting up camp later, tugged on his sleeve to show him the coin in her palm.

* * *

><p>She sat up to drink and made the mistake of doing it too quickly. Her vision went dark until she lowered herself back down. She took it slow the second time, then finished off her waterskin and Cullen's for good measure.<p>

He was twitching, eyes moving jerkily under closed lids. She felt a twinge of guilt; she should have drawn the glyph of warding before she had gone to sleep. He still had the occasional nightmare with it, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been. Instead she snuggled close, called his name until he woke up.

"How are you feeling?" He kissed the top of her head.

"Much better. I might have finished all your water though."

"Good."

"Bad dreams?"

"I made mistakes back there. I could have gotten all of you killed. I'm not the warrior I used to be. Not without lyrium."

"You don't need it."

"I could have lost you there. With the lyrium, I would have known they were sneaking past us, would have been fast and strong enough to keep you safe. My duty was to guard you and I failed that. Forgive me, my love."

"It's all right. I should have seen them coming. They're _big_ and _spiky_. Anyway, it all worked out as well as it could have." She tweaked his nose. "No more leaving me alone and running off to play with swords, commander. As we've seen today, that's a bad idea."

"Never. I swear it by the Maker."

"Good. Have they retrieved Maddox yet?"

"Yes. He was buried not far from here." He was running his fingers over her new scars, and they tingled a little at his touch. The healing was not quite complete. "We never really talked about Maddox."

"What's there to say? I could have been him. I could have been born in Kirkwall, and I would have been made Tranquil." His arms tightened around her and she sighed. "I don't mean to hurt you. It's as you said; if things had happened differently, you could have been with the red templars like Samson and Carroll. I might have died at the Conclave, or have been forced to fight for my life against someone like you. I was fortunate to be in Ostwick, within reach of my family's protection. But there's no sense in dwelling in what ifs. What's important is that we are here."

His scar moved under her fingertips as he smiled. "She says there's nothing to say, and then delivers a speech."

"Mocking your glorious leader now? Who can take me seriously when even my general doesn't?"

The laugh started low and deep in his chest, but he sounded solemn when he spoke. "You speak the truth. You know I am not proud of the man I was. If I had met you in Kirkwall, or Ferelden after the Blight..."

"It takes time. Don't fault yourself for it. You learned. You grew as a person. You're cuddling a mage, isn't that proof enough?"

"I don't know. Mage or not, any man would want you in his arms."

"Cullen, I keep having to remind all of you that mages are far too prone to explosions. You do not, under _any_ circumstances, dance with them, hug them, kiss them, or, Maker forbid, make love to them." She pulled both his ears playfully. "Maker, you'd think a templar would have more sense."

"It is just as well that I am no longer a templar then." One hand pulled her hips towards him firmly and the other wandered under her shirt, calluses rough against her skin. "Don't scare me like that again. First Haven, then Adamant and now this? I never want to lose you. Always remember that." He paused after a particularly long kiss, the heat fading from his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

He frowned. "You have no battlefield awareness! We must work to correct that. We begin tomorrow. I cannot keep sending you to battle when I find it difficult to understand how you have survived this long."

"You're hopeless. Go to sleep, commander. Or did you wish to calibrate some trebuchets while you were at it?"

* * *

><p><em>So this was loosely based off what actually happened in game. They all ran off and then the PC was killed by a red templar shadow one-two stabbity stab. Thanks for watching my back, guys!<em> :|


	8. Green

_Sorry about the weird past-present-past tense shifting in the previous chapter! :p I hope you enjoy this one, which is once again a companion piece of sorts to the previous chapter. It's unabashedly fluffy, but that's the flavour of the moment. Thanks for the favourites and follows, and I always love constructive criticism!_

* * *

><p>Haven was permanently steeped in the strange green light of the Breach. It made her feel like she was swimming in one of the ornamental ponds in Trevelyan estate, water green and heavy with pondweed. Fish stirred the water from time to time; greedy mouths opening and closing as she fed them bread crumbs from the table. She never understood why she did it; their gaping mouths and unblinking eyes repulsed her, but she was also fascinated to the point that she found it hard to look away.<p>

He caught her looking at his arm guards, her face probably as stupid and blank as the fish. Polite as ever, he inquired, "Is there something you need?"

She decided against telling him that they were all fish swimming in a pond, and instead reached for his wrist tentatively, glancing at his face when she realised that she had never touched him and worrying that she was about to cross a line. His face was guarded, but she figured it was too late to turn back (take a big breath, don't cringe at how awkward you are). He made no move to stop her but he did not unfold his arms either. She took his wrist gingerly and gently turned it from side to side, showing him how the light of the Breach reflected off his armour. She hadn't noticed it when he was down at the training grounds, but here in front of the Chantry, his armour glowed as green as her mark did. "It's fascinating." She would almost say that it's beautiful, but for how it kept spitting out demons.

He smiled then, one of those gentle small ones that she hoped he saved for her. "I hadn't noticed that."

Unsurprisingly, that was the moment Chancellor Roderick reappeared. They pulled away from each other, him folding his arms again and she shoving her hands into her pockets.

"Well, if it isn't the self-declared Herald of Andraste and her templar again. Aren't you meant to be off to Val Royeaux by now?"

"All in good time, Chancellor. One must make a suitable impression, and the first step to doing that is to be fashionably late. The Chantry mothers are nothing if not patient." She thought the better out of it only once the words had left her mouth.

Roderick never took much goading. "How dare you disrespect-"

Cullen pointedly stepped in front of her and she peered around his fluffy shoulders at the Chancellor. "The Herald and I were speaking to each other. If we wished your opinion, we would have asked for it. Good day, Chancellor."

"I'm sure _speaking_ is all you were doing," he said in a voice heavy with irony. "I see I'm not wanted, but I'm sure others have the time for me. Good day. You should find Val Royeaux most enlightening." The Chancellor stomped off when neither of them deigned to reply.

Cullen was flushed, and she wondered if it was with anger or something else altogether. "I apologise for the Chancellor's comments, Lady Trevelyan."

Oh. Annoyance it was. She was getting annoyed too, mainly because of how disappointed she felt (stop being silly, you have bigger problems).

"Why should you apologise? If anything, I should be the one doing so. I just made your job harder. He'll probably go off and try to incite some riots now."

He cleared his throat. "He would have done so anyway." She didn't notice him looking at her anxiously. She looked so glum, and he wasn't quite sure why that mattered to him. "Do not worry about Roderick; he is what he is. It's...um, the weather is really nice."

She looked up at the constant magical thunderstorm centred on the Breach and smiled a little at the absurdity. He felt the blush creeping further down his neck. How should he excuse himself before he embarrassed himself more? Polishing his armour? Troop movement reports? Calibrating trebuchets?

She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, veins tracing delicate green patterns on her hands. So unlike the thick ropey ones on his own. "I don't know why the Breach and the rifts are so _green_. The Fade looks nothing like that to me. Not even in the Hinterlands, verdant as it is. It is very beautiful there, despite all the bears. Is Honnleath much the same?"

He hadn't thought about it for too long. He still answered when asked, yes, I am Fereldan, I grew up near Honnleath. Most people were happy to leave it at that, but she seemed genuinely curious.

"We had less bears than the Hinterlands does, judging by your reports."

"I wasn't exaggerating! Ask Varric if you wish." She wrinkled her nose adorably. "Were there any lakes or rivers near your village?"

"We were on the banks of one of the tributaries feeding Lake Calenhad. I loved swimming there in summer, but it was always cold. We used to submerge ourselves for as long as we could, and then lie in the sun on the docks to warm up." A little knot formed in his gut when he remembered the reckless abandon with which they had dove into the lake, frightening slippery eels that slithered away into the murk. He used to float on his back looking at the sun until all he could see was sunspots, and Mia would scold him when he pretended to be blind. It had been a simpler time.

"It sounds wonderful. But I can't see you swimming! I can't imagine you out of your armour." The image of a child laughing as he cannonballed into the cold depths did not match that of the commander. But they all had been young once.

He smirked a little. "It may be hard to believe, but I do sleep. And yes, before you ask, I do take my armour off." He wondered whether the question meant that she had actually tried to imagine him out of his armour, and why. Maker.

"I'll believe when I see it." From anyone else, it would have been flirting. From the Herald, it was merely a flippant joke. From anyone else, it would have made him think less of them. From her, he felt like there was a chance for...something, and it was slipping through his fingers as he stared at her dumbly. She was smiling mischievously, and he finally matched it with one of his own.

"Where is Honnleath? I was at best an indifferent student of geography and cartography." She rolled her eyes. "I didn't expect to be doing quite this much travelling, and certainly not in Ferelden and Orlais."

She said it lightly, but heavy between them was unspoken thought that she had expected to live in the Ostwick Circle for the rest of her life. She had told him that she was brought to the Circle before her sixth birthday (how ironic that she thought that he had been young when he joined the templars-he had spent twice the number of years outside the Circle that she had) . While he knew the Trevelyans ensured that she came home to them, much of the outside world must be new to her. As it was to him, in many ways.

"It will be easier for me to show you. After you, my lady." He held the door to the Chantry open for her. In the war room, he showed her on the map where Honnleath was, and his village.

As she placed a map marker on both and traced the surrounding major roads with a finger, she asked, "Did your home have a sod roof like the ones in the Hinterlands?" When he nodded, she grinned. "No wonder the Orlesians think you Fereldans quaint. I think it's a fantastic way to keep out the cold, but were there many spiders living in the sod?"

"Um. I do not believe so. If I may ask, is there any reason for asking this?"

"Why shouldn't I? As the Herald of Andraste, can I get us to declare a holy war on spiders?"

His curiosity was piqued. "As commander of the forces, I would support this motion, although I am interested as to why the Maker would set us on such a path."

"Because they're...spider demons? Any more detail than that is classified information, commander."

He could keep playing along. "If I'm going to commit my troops to the extermination of these eight-legged horrors, I need to know what you know."

She looked down, biting her lip to keep from laughing. "Before I joined the Circle, I was reading in bed one night when a spider as big as my face fell next to me on the pillow."

"This is worse than I expected. Was that the first attempt on your life, Herald?"

She couldn't stop the giggles. "Yes! Although, maybe it wasn't quite that big." She held her fingers apart by a fraction of an inch. "Maybe it was just this big. But it assaulted my safe haven. And I couldn't find it after I flung the pillow across the room. I suspect it has spied on me since."

"Fear not; as you are our only hope in sealing the Breach, we shall defend you valiantly and ensure you never fall into the creature's grasp."

The door opened and they both startled. He hadn't realised that they had not moved from where they had been, heads close as they examined the map together. Part of him sarcastically noted that it was not for lack of space at that large table, and the thought burned his cheeks.

"Herald! We have been looking for you. It is time to depart for Val Royeaux." Cassandra looked back and forth at both of them, eyebrows knitting quizzically.

She flexed the fingers on her marked hand and jumped off her perch on the war table. "I hope you have a speech prepared, Cassandra. My plan is to look innocent and politely ask them to stop hinting that executing me is the Maker's will."

Cassandra sighed. "At least you are good at looking blameless. We will have a few days to practice what to say, and Josephine has prepared some points for us."

"Farewell, commander. Have fun putting out fires."

"Herald-Lady Trevelyan. Be careful."

She lingered at the door after Cassandra passed through. "I would say I always am, but that's a lie. I-take care, Cullen." With a final enigmatic smile, she closed the door and he let out the breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding.

* * *

><p>He kept seeing green everywhere after that. Reflecting off his men's helmets. Flashing off his arm guards. Glinting off the sword Harritt was polishing. It all reminded him of her now, and that meant it was a hundred little reminders every hour that the Chantry might arrest and execute her or that assassins might be on her trail. His nights were worse than usual, with the tension of the day leaving him struggling the ease the pain curling in his muscles before he fell into barely remembered night terrors.<p>

When Leliana's agent was reporting the news from Val Royeaux, even before he could think about templars and the Lord Seeker, his mouth was framing the word "good" when they were told that she was safe. She was investigating a Red Jenny lead and then had a party to attend with the leader of the loyalist mages, after which she would return.

Now it was a hundred little reminders that she was coming back, and he had a thousand things to do before then. He pored over reports from Therinfal and anything to do with the Lord Seeker. He and Leliana argued about using some of his templars to infiltrate those at Therinfal, but ultimately they agreed that it was too risky. He was confident she would see reason, that she would agree that they needed the templars. She was a mage, but she was one who understood the dangers of magic-after all, look at the mark upon her hand.

* * *

><p>"It must be hard to them to thrive in the cold and frost."<p>

She turned to see the commander approaching slowly, face wary. The elfroot that she had harvested weeks ago had just unfurled a single fresh green shoot today. She smiled tightly in acknowledgment before returning to shaping a small barrier against the cold for it. If not for her stupidly stripping all the mature leaves in the middle of winter, the plant would have easily survived until spring and then provided a constant slow supply of elfroot for the healers.

She had been avoiding him since they had agreed to her little compromise. He still had not seemed pleased that she was approaching the mages at all, but it made sense to her. Cassandra, Cullen and Josephine stood the best chance of getting an audience with the templars, provided they managed to wrestle enough nobles to provide them with the necessary political support. For her part, she knew the mages wanted to talk to her. No need to play games with nobles. Leliana just needed enough agents who could provide her with backup, should things go pear shaped. He had agreed reluctantly, arguing that sometimes the middle road got you exactly nowhere, which was word for word what her father liked to say. It was true that both groups may simply refuse their aid if they learned the other side was involved, but she figured that anyone who was willing to help probably could set aside their differences for long enough. Cullen, however, was tasked with keeping the peace in camp and had a hard time of it as it was.

"Just a moment. I'm in the middle of something." It needed to let water through but keep the cold out. But if it could let water through, it could also let air through and the freezing wind off the Frostbacks would kill the new shoots anyway.

He waited patiently as she swore, letting yet another barrier dissipate. What did he want anyway? She hated conflict. She had survived in the Circle by avoiding conflict at all costs. They were never going to agree on it, so he should just let the matter lie. The whole argument had frustrated her immensely. She was not convinced that the templars would be able to suppress the Breach, and he would not lend her any to test their powers on smaller rifts. Apparently they were needed to train the recruits. She conceded that he did have precious few trained men and a whole lot of people who could swing a sword about as well as she could (self-decapitation was a distinct possibility) but it then seemed like too much of a risk to pursue the templars on his word that it would work. She had argued then that the magic of the Breach was different, that when she had tried to close it, she could barely understand where to begin. It was a construct, key tethers removed and replaced to part the Veil. Even if the templars could help, they would be of no use to her without practice dampening that strange magic.

After all of that, she had no wish to speak to anyone. For the past few days, she had spent most of her time with healers and Minaeve, working on festering demon wounds. Finding limited success there, she had come out here to work on the barrier as a distraction, but her temper was fraying further with each failure.

"Can I help?" He crouched next to her, but she stood up and went to sit on the low wall. He joined her, and she could see there was no use in moving away again.

"Not really. Just trying to fix a stupid mistake I made. The one green thing in Haven, and I've killed it." She gestured vaguely at the plant.

"I see." They sat together in silence for a long minute before he broke it again. "I'm told you're departing for Redcliffe tomorrow."

"Yes. At least we'll be out of the cold for a time."

"Who is going with you?"

"Cassandra, Varric and Vivienne. I don't expect trouble, but if there is, it will be handy to have our Lady Seeker around. They don't really teach us to counter magic in the Circle. Will you be joining Josephine in Val Royeaux?"

He shrugged. "I'm not much use in the Great Game. I'm better off here where I'm needed. If they are to treat at Therinfal, I will meet them there. But that may be months away. Josephine has already started on a complicated diagram of favour trading, rumourmongering, and outright bribery. That was her attempt to explain it to me. She doesn't need that to remember what she's done and what she is to do next."

"In a different life, she would have been an excellent scholar."

"Like yourself?"

"Hardly! I read for pleasure, nothing more. Study is overrated."

"And what do you consider pleasing topics?"

"Stories. Legends. Tyrrda Bright-Axe and her leaf-eared lover. One day, I'll write something that will shamelessly plagiarise all of the best elements from every epic tale."

"You'll have to show it to me."

"Maybe. It may be more romance and adventure that anyone can handle." She had not thought that they could fall back to their usual easy back and forth after the war room. It would have been just as easy to take on the role of mage and templar again and reenact the conflict. But he had left that life for a reason.

The short winter dusk was well upon them so she called forth a bright little wisp; easy enough to do so close to the Breach. He looked strange in the green light, like a creature of legend himself with his beautiful wistful face.

He stood up with a sigh. "I must get back to work. There is much to do before you depart." He took a step towards her, and her heart raced. He did nothing but look at her, so close that she could have leaned forward and buried her face in his coat. "It feels like we are always saying goodbye." The tenderness in his voice made her heart skip a beat.

He turned on his heel sharply to leave, but stopped after a few steps. "A small squad of templars will accompany you, for as long as you have need of them. I hope you will let them aid you in sealing the rifts, and allow them to wait nearby while you treat with the mages. Travel safe, my lady. If you cannot promise caution, I will just have to find more ways to ensure your safety."

"Cullen-"

"As is my duty, my lady. I will see you in the morning before you leave?"

She pointed at him and the little wisp bobbed over, which made him smile. Her heart was in her mouth as she answered, "Yes, and again when I return. I hope to come back with good news."

"We all will pray for your success. But what is most important is that you return. Good night, Herald." The wisp followed him, bobbing excitedly.

She called after him. "Tell it to go away when you want to go to sleep!" In a softer voice, she said, "Good night, commander, and thank you." He did not seem to hear her and continued trudging back down to his men, leaving her alone in the failing light.


	9. Loss

The guard patrols had been established. Scouts latrines dug, enough tents set up, people fed and watered. Druffalo fed and watered. He mechanically ticked things off a list, numbly staring at a map of the Frostbacks. All that there was left to do was wait. Wait for the blizzard to blow itself out. Wait for the scouts to return and then figure out where they were. Wait for...the Herald to find them.

* * *

><p>Mother Giselle patiently endured the bone-crushing grip of the soldier as the healers cleaned the deep ragged wound on his leg, slowly picking out shards of red lyrium. The commander entered the tent, brushing snow off his shoulders. His entrance was largely ignored; he was not an unfamiliar sight in the infirmary. He made his way around, speaking a few quiet words to each person until he stood before the Revered Mother.<p>

"Mother Giselle?" His voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, and he could not meet her gaze. "I know that you are busy...but can I speak to you for a moment?"

She led him to a dark corner of the healer's tent, where they could speak in relative privacy. He knelt before her, resting his head on clasped hands. "Please, mother, if you would say the Chant with me-"

She started with the Canticle of Trials. "Though all before me is shadow,

Yet shall the Maker be my guide."

"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond." He recited in little more than a whisper.

"For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light-"

"-And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost," he finished, face flushing as he pressed his forehead against his hands.

"Have hope, my child. I suspect that the Maker still has plans for the Herald, and that she will yet return to us."

His head snapped up, lips parted in preparation of a half hearted denial before she laid a gentling hand on his head. "It is not a sin to love."

"To _love_?" The commander seemed more confused than anything else. "Did you think that...ah, I...um, the Herald? That is, not the, um, case." The last sentence tripped out with pauses at all the wrong places. He cleared his throat nervously.

She had wedded too many couples to mistake the way the commander and the Herald looked at each other. Nonetheless, she did not challenge him, merely gazed at him levelly until he looked away, colour rising to his cheeks again.

"I pray she is not lost to us," he said quietly. "As we all do."

"As we all do," she echoed, before standing to leave.

* * *

><p>Sand stung Rylen's eyes as the wind picked up. He squinted at the commander with watery eyes, waiting for his orders, but Cullen said nothing. He simply stared at the rubble, silent and stony faced.<p>

"Did you see that rift open and close as that bridge collapsed, commander? It was uncanny. Half those bloody bricks probably brained some poor sod in the Fade."

"I saw it," Cullen replied harshly.

A runner slid around the corner and pounded towards them, shouting breathlessly, "Commander! Demons are pouring through the rift in the main courtyard, and the remaining Wardens are aiding in the fight against the demons."

"Tell the officers to hold the line. Reinforce the main courtyard, and make sure there are rotations for relief of the wounded and fatigued. Half the squads of mages and templars are to support our men and the Wardens in the main courtyard. The rest are to sweep the fortress. Clear any stray demons and make sure there are no other rifts."

The runner thumped his gauntlet over his heart and took off again.

"Where do you want me, commander? Shall I go to the main courtyard?"

"No. Take your best men and search the rubble. The Inquisitor was on that bridge."

"Commander-" His voice faltered. If that was true, then...

"Find the Inquisitor. I must join them in the courtyard." He finally met Rylen's eyes, and his were hard. "Go."

* * *

><p>He waited.<p>

They found nothing in the rubble save an unconscious magister, over whom the templars now stood guard.

She wasn't there.

The demons continue to burst from the rift sporadically, but what he could feel, even with his withdrawal-dulled senses, was something _big _pressing against the Veil.

She could still be deep within the piles of broken stone. Adamant would be her cairn.

They could not close the rift, but they could not leave it either. It spawned demons in numbers that would devastate their retreat.

Solas had theorised that they were in the Fade. "In the absence of anything else that fits the evidence, we must assume that the Inquisitor has learned to use her mark to open, as well as close rifts."

Cullen could not decide which was worse; the thought of her wandering the Fade with Dorian (mages were familiar with the Fade, he would be a help to her), Sera and the Iron Bull (both disastrous choices) or the thought of her lying wounded in the ruin while his troops slowly searched, moving one stone at a time.

She would come back. He should have kissed her before he sent her on after Clarel. He should have made her promise to be careful. He should have made her swear that she would come back.

He should have told her that he loved her.

The coin was heavy in his pocket as he drew his sword. "Inquisition! We swore to seal the Breach, and we did! We swore to follow. We swore to fight. We swore to triumph!"

The troops roared as green light split and cracked through the dusty air. They followed. They fought. They died.

* * *

><p>He knew she was coming long before she came into view. The army had been winning ground for hours, but every inch was hard fought. The red templars had set up blockades, and their marksmen were difficult to dislodge. Nonetheless, he had flanked them and had them fighting on all fronts.<p>

She cut through the messy battlefield, swift and sure as a well thrown knife. He heard the cheers even as he joined the ugly melee in front of the temple gates. He felt the prickle of her magic as she neared, and then she was there, a force of nature inexorably crushing the red templars to the ground to be cut down by their blades. One man would burst into flame and another would stiffen as ice crystallised over his skin.

When it was over, she pulled herself in, the crackle of her magic fading beyond the edge of hearing. Nonchalantly, she pulled out a bag of nuts and began eating them. Sera immediately stuck her hand into the bag, pilfering fully half of it. The Inquisitor politely offered some to Solas and Morrigan, both of whom declined. She shrugged and wolfed the rest down.

It was not in his nature to make the same mistake twice. Before she entered the elven temple, he maintained enough decorum to ask to speak to her in private, only to pull her behind a ruined wall and kiss her hard. As he led her off, he heard a disgusted sound that could have been either Morrigan or Cassandra.

"Be safe. Come back. I love you."

She whispered, "I've got luck on my side, remember?"

"And so you do." He forced himself to watch her go. He had armed her as best he could. The rune that would unmake Samson's armour was safely tucked in a pocket.

She turned back at the end of the long gateway, lifting a hand in farewell before she moved out of sight. He then turned his attention back to dismantling Corypheus' army. Each one that fell was one less sword turned at her throat.

* * *

><p>Dorian watched the muscle in Cullen's jaw clench as the scout babbled on about how there was nothing but Samson, dead red templars and a broken mirror deep within the temple. The mysterious elves had abandoned their posts, melting like shadows into the verdant greenery.<p>

When Cullen's flinty stare turned to him, he merely shrugged. "Don't look at me. Most Tevinter mages don't take the study of elven artifacts seriously. Our second resident apostate never let me within ten feet of her eluvian." Morrigan and Solas would have been the ones to ask, and they too had apparently vanished into thin air. With the Inquisitor. She was making a habit of it.

The commander ran his thumb along the hilt of his sword, frowning as he did. "Bring Samson back to Skyhold to face the Inquisitor's justice. Have Leliana and Josephine meet me back at the main camp. After that, I need an update from the Orlesian officers." When the scout left, he jerked his head at the temple. "Let's move."

"Didn't you just say you were going to meet our ladies of iron back at the main camp?"

"I will, when we are done here. She cannot have just _vanished_."

"Perhaps they travelled through the eluvian. Did she tell you of the crossroads that Morrigan showed her?"

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "I just-I need to see it. The scout said there were clear signs of battle. I-"

"I know." As a rule, Dorian tried not to fret about her, but simply reminded himself that she had an unrivalled knack for survival. He doubted that viewing the temple would give Cullen any reassurance; indeed, he often felt physically ill when he looked at the swathe of destruction she left in her wake, especially when he wondered how they had survived.

He was not wrong on that count. Cullen looked even more grim as he examined the burn marks on the walls and in the shrubbery, then the deep gouges in the earth where the dragon had landed. There was, in fact, not much besides a broken mirror and a bloodied pool of water before it.

"She's probably back in Skyhold by now, putting her feet up and having a cup of warm cocoa," he suggested.

Cullen smiled thinly. "I pray that is true. It is time for us to go. Josephine and Leliana will be waiting for me. I must organise the forces here before we return to Skyhold."

* * *

><p>"-And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."<p>

Her voice was warm, quiet. She had snuck up on him, treading light in her soft boots. "A prayer for you?"

"For those we have lost...and those which I am afraid to lose."


End file.
